


A Bit Of a Lark

by Sherlock1110, sherlockian4evr



Series: Sherlock and Mycroft Fluff [22]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Humor, M/M, Mischief, Over the Top, Pranks and Practical Jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 22:35:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6678043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/pseuds/sherlockian4evr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade manages to steal Mycroft's umbrella and keep it hidden away, with John's help, for a whole day or so before returning it. And does it again... and again. Mycroft is being outwitted at every turn and Sherlock gets the blame. Until the tables are turned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bit Of a Lark

It started out as just a bit of a lark, Greg stealing Mycroft's umbrella. He couldn't really be sure why he had done it, but his boyfriend's reaction was proving to be priceless.

Mycroft looked in the umbrella stand and frowned, not seeing his seemingly most-treasured possession. “Gregory, my umbrella is missing.”

The DI looked up from his paper, sipping his coffee. “What's that got to do with me?”

“Well you are the only one who lives here with me. And I haven't moved it.”

“Well neither have I.” Greg looked back at his paper. “Maybe you left it somewhere and forgot. You're not getting any younger, you know. You're getting to be like me. I'd misplace my own head if it wasn't attached.”

“Don't be absurd, Gregory.” Mycroft looked behind the door and beside the sofa. “Sherlock hasn't visited, you'd have told me if he had and even if you hadn't I would be able to see, so where...” He trailed off, hands on hips.

Greg sighed and raised his paper, conveniently hiding his smirk.

“What are we doing today anyway?”

“Well I was planning on going to Baker Street there's some things I need to discuss with my brother.”

“Like his trust fund?”

“Maybe.”

“That's good,” Greg said as he watched his boyfriend fidget.

“This is ridiculous!” Mycroft's hand opened and closed like it would have done on the handle of his brolly. “I can't go out without my umbrella.” He pulled out his phone and called his assistant. “Anthea, a matter of some urgency has arisen. My umbrella has disappeared.”

“Mr. Holmes, I have much more important things to be doing than looking for your umbrella.”

“I'm not saying I want you to look for it Anthea, I'm saying I want you to go shopping and get me a new one, or even find one of my old ones,” he rang off and turned back to his boyfriend. “My brother will not be getting access to his trust fund if I don't find it.”

“How is this his fault?”

“Something as petty as this? It has to be my baby brother. It always is.”

Greg bit his lip. He should say something, admit to the theft for Sherlock's sake, but nope, he wasn't going to. “Would you like me to come with you to confront your brother? I could play the good cop to your bad.”

“Yes, thank you, Gregory. We'll leave as soon as Anthea drops of the replacement.”

“Myc, you don't actually need an umbrella. It's the middle of June.”

“So?”

“It's not raining. Albeit for once.”

Mycroft threw himself down in a chair and... pouted. In that moment, he looked exactly like Sherlock. The DI got up and crossed the room. He sat in his boyfriend's lap, his legs on the outside of Mycroft's.

“You're kind of cute when you pout, Myc,” Greg teased.

“I'm not cute!” He snapped.

“Ooh, Mycie is being an angry boy. Angry boys go on the naughty step.”

Mycroft wanted to be mad but Greg was just too adorable pulling that face.

He settled his hands on the DI's hips, leaned forward and kissed him.

As they broke apart, Greg laughed. He stood and offered Mycroft a hand up. “Come on, we're going to Baker Street without the umbrella.”

“No!”

“Mr. Holmes, I highly suggest you change your attitude.”

The older man frowned. “Fine!”

Greg allowed himself to chuckle, he figured it wouldn't give anything away. Mycroft would assume it to be him laughing at his childish behaviour. He dragged his boyfriend out into the bright June day.

“You know, Myc, you should really own more clothes than just a 3 piece suit.”

“What for?”

“Days like this. When you're not at work!”

“I'm always at work,” Mycroft protested. “I could be called in at any moment.”

“Then keep a suit in the car.” Greg looked his boyfriend up and down. “Yeah, I'm buying you some jeans and some casual shirts. And you will wear them, Mycroft Holmes.”

“I will not keep a suit in my car, Gregory.”

“I don't even know why you bother. You spend all the time in your office where no one sees you anyway.”

Mycroft paused by the boot of the car and opened it. He moved a couple of things around, then growled audibly. “I thought maybe I had put it in here with my briefcase yesterday.” He slammed the boot furiously, then went around and climbed in the car.

“What is it with that umbrella, anyway?” Greg asked. “I've looked at it, it's not harbouring some secret weapon.”

Mycroft was extremely quiet.

“What is it?”

“Sherlock bought it for me. He buys me one every year for Christmas.”

“You've been sneaky, Mister Holmes, the both of you. You always claimed you don't do Christmas.” Greg wasn't about to say just how endearing he found this new sentimental revelation.

Mycroft sniffed. “It's strictly a practical gift, Gregory. There's no meaning behind it.”

“Bollocks.” The DI grinned broadly and laced his fingers together behind his head.

“What's got into you today? I would almost call you hyper but only the youngest Holmes has a hyper mode.”

Mycroft poked his tongue out. “Do you think I'm doing the right thing? With Sherlock?”

Greg nodded decisively. “Yes, absolutely. He's changed, Myc. I know a lot of that's down to John, but Sherlock had to want to change for it to happen.”

Mycroft smiled, but didn't look over at him. “Thank you, your opinion means a lot. As always.”

When they pulled up outside 221 and headed inside, it was to hear John trying to make Sherlock stay still.

“You were saying?”

Greg laughed. “You know what I mean.”

“I don't want to sit down! It's boring!”

“Sherlock, your brother said 10 o'clock and he's never late so sit down and shut up.”

Mycroft immediately started searching the flat. He started with the obvious on the off hand chance Sherlock wouldn't expect it, looking in the umbrella stand and behind the door. “Where did you put it, 'Lock?”

“Put what?” Sherlock rolled his eyes dramatically, then he noticed the umbrella's absence. “I didn't put it anywhere, Mycroft. You're getting old like Geoff and misplaced it.”

“Hey!” Greg complained. “He's older than me! And it's Greg, you prick!”

The only way John had managed to get Sherlock to stay sat was to push him down into his seat and stand behind him, his hands warningly placed on his shoulders.

“About what I said earlier, Myc, I've changed my mind.” Greg grinned and sat on the sofa, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. “It's definitely the wrong thing to do.”

Mycroft got down on his hands and knees and looked under the sofa, batting his boyfriend's feet out of the way. “I agree.”

Then he looked at the chair Sherlock was on and whacked his feet out the way.

“Oi! John wants me in the chair and you want me to move? What's going on? And what's the wrong thing to do anyway?”

Mycroft stood with a huff. “It doesn't matter. Nothing is happening until I get my sodding umbrella.”

John choked down a laugh at the rare vulgarity on the government official's part and studiously avoided looking at Greg.

“Myc, you said this morning that he couldn't have taken it because if he had been in our place you would know.”

“See, thank you, Geoff.”

“I'm not even going to dignify that with a response.” Even as Greg spoke, Mycroft spotted his umbrella.

Well, the handle of it. “The chimney! Good Lord, Sherlock.” The government official reached up the chimney and dislodged the umbrella... and a load of soot. He came away with a blackened face and his suit was a complete mess.

The other three burst out laughing.

“It's like when you came home for summer that one year-”

“Shut it, Sherlock!”

“I told you to wear jeans!”

“You can shut up as well, Gregory.”

John snorted, then guffawed, then he doubled over, laughing so hard tears came to his eyes.

Mycroft glared at him, doing his best imitation of an insulted cat. “I thought better of you, Doctor Watson.”

“I don't know why,” John said as he tried to catch his breath. “I had to be completely mad as I wouldn't put up with this lump.”

He vaulted the back of the sofa and landed on Sherlock's lap, laughing even more at his grunt.

“Yes, a lump who stole my umbrella,” Mycroft groused.

“I did not!” Sherlock tried to jump to his feet, but John wouldn't be dislodged. “Someone else stole your security blanket.”

“What and shoved it up the chimney! Your chimney I might add.”

“Mycroft-”

“Don't try and deny it. These two didn't know of the accident when I was 16.”

Greg was struggling to not laugh. He and John had had no idea about any chimney accidents. It was just a mere coincidence. A great one, but a coincidence.

“Tell him, John!” Sherlock pled. “I haven't left the flat in the last 36 hours. It would be impossible for me to have stolen the thing.”

“You won't mind if I verify that via the surveillance footage, then, will you, brother-mine?” Mycroft asked sweetly.

“No!”

That wasn't the response Mycroft had been hoping for.

Even so, Greg had thought ahead. The footage had already been wiped, wiped incredibly well by a friend in IT. So well, in fact, only Sherlock could have done it.

Mycroft pulled out his phone and tapped on a custom app. What it pulled up wasn't the expected surveillance feed, but a large smiley face and the words 'Hello Myc'. The government official’s nostrils flared and he held out the phone, showing the image to his brother. “'Lock! Now try telling me you didn't do this.”

Sherlock wriggled under the weight of John as he shouted, “I've been framed!”

“Bollocks!”

“I can't believe all this for a bloody umbrella.”

“It's not what it is, Sherlock it's whose it is. Under your own words I'm the British Government and you stole from me. That could be classed as treason.”

“Oh, good Lord, Mycroft!” This time, he managed to dump John on the floor because the doctor was laughing too hard to fight it. “I gave you the bloody umbrella. I'll give you another one this year!”

“Not. The. Point.” Mycroft stalked towards the bathroom, planning to clean himself up a bit. “Do grow up.”

“You are the one that looks like a chimney sweep. Originally done by poor children.”

Mycroft turned dropping the umbrella. “That is it, Sherlock Holmes!”

The detective saw himself being chased before it happened. He went for the open window seeing as Mycroft was between himself and the door.

John was back on his feet in time to snag Sherlock's collar. “Nope. We do not exit rooms by the window, not unless we're being chased by a murderer,” John admonished. “We get broken bones that way and I end up setting them.”

“Look at him, John.” Sherlock waved towards his brother. “He clearly has murderous intentions!”

“Then look at him,” he pointed to Greg. “That is Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade from new Scotland Yard, despite his love for the man I can't believe he would let the idiot that solves all his cases be murdered.”

The DI raised an eyebrow. “You know, I do solve my fair share of cases, thank you very much.” He had been feeling the tiniest bit guilty for letting the situation continue, but no more. “Go solve Dimmock's cases from now on, you great prat.”

“Leave the Yard then,” Sherlock countered. “I'd get to see him more often.”

Mycroft let himself drop to Greg's lap. “Touché, Gregory.”

Sherlock maturely stuck out his tongue at the pair of them and threw himself back down into his chair. “So why are you here, Mycroft? Is there some case you want me to solve, as per normal?” He waved his hands in the air. “You could have just asked. It was completely unnecessary to frame me for brolly theft.”

Mycroft growled low in his throat. “It has nothing to do with a case, Sherlock.”

“For once,” he added.

The government official shook his head, “This is the moment of truth, Gregory. Do I proceed or no?”

Greg chuckled. “Yeah, I suppose you should. You're above petty acts of revenge, Myc.” He kissed him on his cheek.

“Very well.” Mycroft faced his brother. “I'm here to speak with you about your trust.”

***

Mycroft's foot went through the door to 221.

He proceeded to head up the stairs to B making sure to stamp on each stair as he went.

“Bloody baby brother where is my umbrella this time?”

Sherlock popped out of the kitchen, a pair of gloves and his hands and goggles on his head. “How should I know, brother dear? I haven't seen your umbrella. Now kindly, piss off!” He pulled the goggles down over his eyes and returned to the kitchen and the experiment therein.

“I will give you to the count of three before I phone John at work and demand his presence.”

“John? Go ahead.” Sherlock poured something pink into something blue, creating something black and spewing further black, noxious vapours.

Mycroft covered his mouth, coughing, and ran to the window to open it. “Just wait until John hears about this.”

“Oh, I'm just shaking. Mycroft's going to tattle on me.”

“You are such a child!”

“You're the one who was going to tattle on me.”

Mycroft growled, found John's number in his phone and hit ring.

“Watson, get home. Now!”

“What's he done?”

“What hasn't he done? Stolen my umbrella again and poisoned your flat.”

John pulled the phone away from his ear and chuckled. He'd have to tell Greg the game was on.

The DI pulled up outside 221 at the same time as John's cab.

“What's yours done this time?”

“Poisoned the flat apparently. That is more believable than stealing his umbrella.”

Greg ran a hand over the back of his neck. “When you said the game was on, I figured you had guessed...”

“You didn't!”

“I did,” the DI said with a wicked grin. “Bet you can't figure out where I hid it this time.”

As they walked into the flat it was to the strangest sight. Sherlock was laid out on the floor face down, his hands tied behind his back with his own scarf and Mycroft's foot on his arse keeping him there.

Greg raised his hands as if to disavow something. “If this is some sort of kinky brother thing, I really don't want to know.”

“That goes double for me,” John agreed. “Tea?” he asked the DI casually as he stepped around the brothers and into the kitchen.

“John!” Sherlock yelled. “It's your boyfriend he's trod on.”

“I just said I don't want to know.”

“He thinks I stole his umbrella. Again!”

“Shut it, baby brother.”

“I. Will. Not. Shut it!” The detective kicked his feet and bucked wildly. “I swear, Mycroft, I'll never buy you another umbrella. It'll be some hideous Christmas jumper. John can help me pick it out.”

“I really am not helping you now, you little bastard!” John called from the kitchen door.

“Grrrr!”

“Looks like you're on your own, little brother.”

“This isn't fair.”

“Neither is the filching of my umbrella.” Mycroft gave his brother's bum one last shove with his foot, then started searching the flat. “It had better not have a scratch on it.” The government official looked behind the curtains and the desk, then he crossed to the kitchen and looked in the fridge. The only thing in there was a collection of ears.

“John, how do you live with this?”

The doctor rolled his eyes. “You managed it for 18 years it has only been 9 for me.”

“When he was a child, he didn't keep ears in the fridge. Mummy never allowed it.”

Greg held his hand up for silence. “Was that the door?”

“Bollocks,” Mycroft hissed, racing out after him.

John's laugh followed him out. “And you still haven't found it.”

A moment later, Sherlock came out of their bedroom, he had climbed up the fire escape. “John, you've got to help me. I tell you, I didn't take his umbrella. Tell me you believe me!”

The doctor laughed. You would think Sherlock was begging him for his life. “'Lock, you have to admit, it's just the kind of thing you would do.”

“Yes, maybe it is, but it's not this time, John, I swear.”

At the sound of the downstairs door slamming Sherlock dove into the siting room to hide beneath the table.

“There's no way he could run the length of Baker Street and get out of view in the split second he was out of my sight!”

“Bollocks!” the detective hissed as an umbrella, THE umbrella fell on him. It had been taped to the underside of the table.

Mycroft picked the table up and set it aside. “You were proclaiming your innocence, baby brother?”

Sherlock actually cowered back.

“It wasn't me, Myc, I swear!”

“You had just said the same thing to me,” John reminded him from the door again.

“Red handed!” Mycroft growled, picking his brother up by the collar of his suit and shoving him back into the wall.

“Circumstantial evidence,” Sherlock said disdainfully, “it wouldn't hold up in a court of law.”

“Woo hoo, boys,” Mrs. Hudson called from the living room door. “Do keep it down, my program is on. All of this childish behaviour is quite distracting.”

“Yes, Mrs. Hudson,” the Holmes brothers said in unison as Mycroft released his brother and took a step back.

“Better.” She gave a nod a disappeared back downstairs.

John and Greg hid in the kitchen and giggled.

***

This time Sherlock was grabbed by the scruff of the neck at his most recent crime scene. He knew immediately who it was and he closed his eyes. “I don't know where it is, Myc,” he held his arms up as if to prove he didn't have it on his person.

Across the courtyard Greg stood with his back to the brothers, John smacked him on the arm. “Look.”

One glance over his shoulder and he had to turn around again.

“This time it won't be circumstantial,” he whispered.”

“How do you mean?” John asked, curious.

“Fibres, John, fibres.” Greg grinned and went up on his toes. His hand made an abortive motion as if to raise a non existent cigarette to his lips.

They both spun around as if for the first time as; “seriously Mycie! I'm trying to work here! I did not steal your bloody umbrella.”

“I didn't believe you the first time. The third you are pushing your luck.”

“Don't you think I would know that, Mycroft?”  Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I'm not completely daft.”

“Hold out your hand,” Mycroft ordered.

“Why?”

The elder Holmes gave him a look and Sherlock complied. Mycroft deposited several blue fibres that were unmistakeably from the younger man's scarf into his outstretched hand.

“Oh, for the love of... I'm not that careless!” Sherlock complained.

“They are so small, little brother you wouldn't have even noticed! And that security feed… only you could clear it out as successfully as that.”

Suddenly it seemed like both Holmeses realised the same thing at once, they both turned to look at their boyfriends, who were now 'giggling at a crime scene' in a very unprofessional manner.

“We have been had, little bro.” Mycroft said seriously.

“Mm, yes, dearest brother, we have. It's a dangerous thing when goldfish turn out to be piranhas.”

Mycroft chuckled softly. “Play the part,” he whispered.

Sherlock nodded ever so slightly.

“Go and get in my car, Sherlock, I've had just about enough of this immature crap!”

“Mycroft, it wasn't me!”

“Now, or I'm phoning mummy.”

“Do it! Mummy will be on my side.”

Mycroft grabbed Sherlock by the ear and dragged him, 'protesting', to the car, he shoved him in it. He called over to his boyfriend, “I'm sorry, Gregory, but my brother has to learn a lesson. John, I'll return him more or less intact.”

“Um…” John responded, not really knowing how to reply.

Greg felt the beginnings of guilt creep back into him that had disappeared a few days ago after the last 'theft'.

The moment Sherlock and Mycroft were safely behind closed, tinted car doors, they both started talking at once.

“Your boyfriend has been framing me Myc!”

“I cannot believe the audacity of Gregory and John!”

Sherlock met his brother's eyes in the mirror. “I demand revenge!”

“You are not the only one.”

“How did they fool you, Myc? How did they fool the both of us? We are supposed to be the cleverest men on the planet and we were beaten by two piranhas.”

“I don't know, but hold on,” Mycroft said as he pulled into traffic. “They were approaching the car,” he explained at his younger brother's confused look.

“No doubt, they'll call soon,” Sherlock observed. “Don't answer. Let them worry that you're doing something horrid to me.”

“How shall we pass the time?” Mycroft asked.

“Cluedo at the Diogenes? You could have the doorman deny we were there if John and Greg should ask.”

“Ok. But we can't just do that. There needs to be something else.”

“Something like what?”

“Something bigger.”

“You could send random messages to John.” Sherlock sat up and grinned. “Something like 'John, you do have a fully stocked med kit on hand?' or 'John, when did Sherlock last have his tetanus jab?' or,” he bounced on the seat, “‘don’t mind what you may hear on the news, I'm sure nothing was broken.'“

Mycroft actually grinned as he watched their boyfriends disappear in the rear view.

“I could cover you in ketchup and lock you in one of the many dungeons I have at my beck and call. Then just give John and Gregory the address.”

“Send them a photo, Myc!” Sherlock clambered into the front passenger seat. “I'll look positively cowed, I promise.”

“Consider it done.”

***

“Admit it,” Sherlock laughed. “You love making it look like you're bullying me.”

“I do not!”

Mycroft had bundled his baby brother from the car outside of the club, just in case anyone checked the security feed.

The pair passed through the stranger's room and went to the smaller, private room that Mycroft used so often. Once inside, the elder Holmes brother poured them both drinks. He passed a glass to Sherlock and raised his own in a toast. “To revenge.”

“To revenge,” the detective laughingly echoed as he lifted the glass to his lips, then both men sat. “How long do we let them worry, Myc, before you send them the photo?”

“Oh, I should think an hour would be suitable, don't you?”

Sherlock chuckled as his phone buzzed.

_You alright? X -J_

“John's already bugging me. Do I reply?”

Mycroft shook his head.

They had set up the Cluedo board and had made several moves, when Mycroft's phone rang. He glanced at it, chuckled, then silenced it. “Gregory,” he explained. “Your go, 'Lock.”

Sherlock rolled the die, then moved his piece into the ballroom.

“And no telling me that it was suicide or poison or any such rubbish.”

“John told you.” He finished the rest of his go and gave the die to Mycroft. “It would be no fun with you. You'd probably agree.”

Mycroft chuckled. “Undoubtedly.”

Several minutes later, Sherlock's phone pinged again. He glanced at it. “Oh, your boyfriend's come clean.” He passed his phone to Mycroft.

_Tell Myc I was the one who kept stealing his umbrella - G_

“It's such a shame we never saw this message, isn't it, baby brother?”

“I think you should send John the first message.”

“Which one?”

“The first aid kit one.”

Mycroft laughed the whole time he typed it out and let Sherlock read it before he sent it off with a swoosh.

The response was immediate, Sherlock's phone began ringing. He ignored it and rolled the die again. This time he stepped his piece into the library. “Do you feel the least bit guilty, Myc?”

The government official snorted. “Not at all.” He leaned back in his chair. “I know my Gregory and your John, they would have kept the whole thing up for months.”

Mycroft's phone was next to ring. Followed by John's immediately after.

“Another drink, 'Lock?”

Sherlock nodded, “although, I think we should be sober… we don't know how far we are going to have to run later.”

“Good point. Tea then.” He rang the bell on his desk.

As a tea tray was placed on Mycroft's desk, he sent off the message about the tetanus jab. “I find I'm enjoying this entirely too much. I almost feel guilty.”

“Remember the chimney and the soot.”

“Oh, I remember. My suit was a complete loss, though Gregory did appreciate me in the jeans you loaned me.”

“You could lend me a set of clothes back and have mine placed on the doorstep to 221.”

Mycroft laughed. He laughed so hard he nearly spilled the milk he was attempting to pour.

“You can borrow one of my 3 piece-”

“No.”

“'Lock...”

“I said no.”

“Spoil sport.” Mycroft sipped his tea. “I'll loan you some of Greg's clothes, jeans and a T-shirt, then.”

“Not one of his punk band shirts,” Sherlock protested.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow as an idea struck him.

“Choose.”

“What?”

“Choose. Suit or t-shirt.”

Sherlock took a deep breath. “Suit,” he sighed.

“Then we don't even have to leave the club. I keep several suits on hand.” Mycroft rang for assistance and made his request. “While you're changing, I'll send the text about the news.” He began tapping it out. “We can drive by Baker Street and toss out your clothes on the way to my dungeon.”

Sherlock, halfway undressed, grinned at his brother. “Myc, this is fun.”

“Far too much fun.”

He pointed to a cupboard, indicating where his suits were kept. “I should have told Gregory I keep many here.”

The detective made a face, but selected a suit and began putting it on. “For the 'bloody' photo, I'll just be in my pants, though. It wouldn't make sense otherwise.”

Mycroft chuckled. “My poor Gregory. He'll think I've had that mental break you've always threatened you would have. And your John...”

“John will hate you forever. He'll make your life a living hell and you will never stop him because you are so weighed down in guilt you don't have.”

Mycroft blinked. “Well... that would certainly be true if I ever really harmed you. Luckily it won't be your blood.” He paused. “Should I purchase tickets for the pair of us, just in case? I've heard the cherry trees are blossoming in Japan.”

“We can always seduce our way back into their good graces,” Sherlock said as he buttoned up the jacket and turned to face his brother.

Mycroft bit his lip, trying extremely hard to not burst out laughing.

“Do not say a word, Mycroft!” Sherlock held a hand up to stop him before he could speak.

The government official didn't say anything. He snapped a photo. “For John... if he let's us live.” Someone appeared at the door with a few bags of blood that Mycroft had rang for and he took it. “Shall we?” He gestured towards the door.

“Your people don't even question you, do they?”

“Nope. It's great, though.”

“You couldn't have asked for something more random than blood in a bag, to be honest.”

“Oh, I have over the years. Now get in the back seat and keep your head down. Gregory has endless resources at the Yard and I can't keep one step ahead of him all the time while we are playing this little game. George, drive for me.”

'George' looked over from the wall he had been stood next too with a coffee.

“Of course, Mr. Holmes.”

Mycroft clipped his brother on the back of the head as he climbed into the back. “I can't wait to throw your stuff out the window.”

“They won't believe it though, surely?”

“I don't know why not.” Mycroft upended the bag of blood and poured some onto Sherlock's expensive shirt. “It's a good thing it's not that aubergine shirt of yours, John would never forgive me if I ruined it.”

Sherlock laughed. “I bought two more when I realised how much he likes it.”

“Well there goes your Christmas present out the window. Now get down,” he ordered while raising his hand to make George slow down. He wound the window to its lowest and launched Sherlock's blood covered suit at the door to 221.

He let George accelerate away at speed and typed out a message to John. He passed the phone back to his brother so Sherlock could read it.

_Doctor Watson, I would check the path - M_

“It looks like you've signed it Moriarty.”

“Even better.”

As they neared the location of Mycroft's dungeon, Sherlock started fidgeting. “Are we there yet, Myc?”

“Not yet. Just a couple more blocks.”

Sherlock messed up his hair. “Do I look like I've been properly manhandled?”

“The suit rather ruins the effect.”

Sherlock ripped the sleeve much to Mycroft's protests.

The younger Holmes laughed. “You should have known this would be another casualty in this war.”

The government official rolled his eyes. “It's a good job that I have endless resources and funding at my disposal.”

As they pulled up, Mycroft climbed out and opened the back door. He scooped up his baby brother and threw him over his shoulder.

Sherlock let himself hang limply until they got safely inside, then he used his position to his advantage and tickled his brother.

Mycroft dropped him.

“Myc!”

Sherlock grunted as the older man grabbed his ankle and began dragging him towards the stairs.

Sherlock scrambled to his feet quickly at the sight of the descent.

“According to John I have a death wish. Dying of being dragged down dungeon stairs is not my idea of a decent suicide.”

“It would cause too many bruises on your tender bum, no doubt.”

“Hmph.” Sherlock skipped ahead of Mycroft down the stairs.

“Do you know, I've never had anyone excited to be brought here before.”

“I like dungeons. They're fun. And far too much like the corner of my flat. Icky poisonous things in that corner.”

“And you like it?”

“Of course I do. I put it there.”

“I would take your clothes off, little brother.”

“Is that the line you used to bag Greg?

“Actually, I told him how much I admired how he put up with you. Then I commented on his hair, his eyes, his lips and his gorgeous ar...”

“La, la, la,” Sherlock sang with his hands over his ears. “I can't hear you.”

“Get in the corner, Sherlock.”

He heard that. He ran to the corner and sat down like a school boy on a field trip. He noticed the manacles hanging from above him and then the side wall with all the tools along there.”

“Is this the one Moriarty got acquainted with?”

“Oh no. That was at the Tower. Well under it. Only seemed fitting after all. Now, I would use the manacles...”

“But I might need to make a quick escape once John and Greg figure out I'm not actually hurt,” Sherlock finished.

“Precisely. Weren't you going to strip down to your pants?”

“Oh,” Sherlock started removing the three piece suit. “I suppose I tore the sleeve for no reason.”

“Hmph, you knew what you were doing, 'Lock.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Did not.”

“Maybe I'll use the manacles on you anyway. There is no way you'll be able to pick them, even with your own suit. Completely at my disposal.”

“How many of these little dungeons have you got stashed around?”

“Enough.”

“So they'll never know where we are straight away?”

“Not if I just send a photo and no address. Tilt your head back.” When Sherlock did, Mycroft started decorating him with a mixture of blood and soot. The blood was the same as he had brought from the club, the soot was from a small braizier, the purpose of which Sherlock chose not to deduce.

“Make it look good, Myc”

“No, little brother. I'm going to make it look like I dropped you in a puddle.”

“Well, you did when I was a kid.”

“That. Was an accident.”

“The first time,” the younger Holmes agreed.

Mycroft painted a line down Sherlock's chest.

“But not the second,” Sherlock clarified, “or the third. And Mummy never did believe I just fell in the lake.”

“Sherlock, you fell off your bike. Now shut up or I won't need the fake blood and you won't need to test your acting skills.”

The detective quit talking and stuck out his tongue.

Mycroft stepped back and admired his handywork, then he took out his mobile and snapped a photo. He showed it to his brother. “What do you think?”

“I think John might actually shit his pants.”

Mycroft chuckled. “And I think Gregory is feeling just a tad guilty round about now. I'd love to see his face when he gets it.”

“Perhaps a change of plans is in order?” Sherlock said hesitantly. “You can still get those plane tickets, right?”

“Of course?”

“Good, because I don't want to be here when they figure it out. Send them the photo, send them the address and let’s leave them a message that says it was all a joke. We can come back once they've calmed down.”

Both phones rang simultaneously. Sherlock reached for Mycroft's.

“Mycroft?”

“It's Sherlock,” he made his voice sound like a choke.

“God, Sherlock what's happened? What has Mycroft done? John!”

The next voice was the doctor’s. He had clearly snatched the phone.

“'Lock, you ok?”

“Gotta go.” He coughed. “He's coming back.”

He rang off and straight away burst out laughing.

“What happened to-”

“I don't know. But I couldn't resist.”

“You, brother-mine, are a bad man.” Mycroft took his phone back and pocketed it. “Let's go. We can get cleaned up somewhere along the way and I'll send the photo from there.”

Sherlock looked at the state of his hands. “Can we stop somewhere that can do a manicure?”

The older brother raised an eyebrow.

“You always laugh at me for getting a manicure.”

The detective shrugged as Mycroft released his hands.

“You know, if I really had chained you up here and beaten you bloody I wouldn't have let my phone in reach of you all tied up like that.”

“I must have pick pocketed you and you didn't notice.”

“Not very bloody likely, Sherlock.”

The younger Holmes held up Mycroft's wallet in reply.

“You little…”

Sherlock raced off up the stairs. “Didn't think this through, Mycroft! I'm going to trail blood and soot all over your lovely carpets up here!”

“They're not my carpets, they belong to the government, and they've seen worse, I assure you.” Mycroft sighed and picked up his much abused suit. “Would you get back down here and put some clothes on?!”

It was only Sherlock's head that reappeared. “Boring!”

“You are not going out in your underwear!”

“Why not? You were quite willing to let me be naked in Buckingham Palace. It was only John that stopped you.”

“As if I... You are a brat, Sherlock Holmes, you know that?!”

“So I'm often told.”

“Clothes.” Mycroft threw the suit at Sherlock's head. “Now!”

“You are the spoil sport!”

***

When they walked into Mycroft's favourite manicure place they sat beside each other on the sofa. Mycroft had made George detour passed the club to pick up another suit for his brother.

“Shall I send it now?”

Sherlock grinned. “Add something like 'this is him after your call. Don't do it again'.”

Mycroft actually threw back his head and laughed, doing as his brother suggested. “If we get bored of Japan, we can skip over to Hawaii, then Central America, then some place in Africa.”

“What do you mean 'if'? I'm always bored.”

“You haven't been today.”

Sherlock froze. “No I guess… well, I suppose spending time with you hasn't been entirely unpleasant.”

“And I suppose that I might, possibly even find myself considering agreeing with that sentiment.”

The two brothers looked away from each other as they both tried to smother their smiles.

It was over an hour later that all hell broke loose. Police cars came skidding to a halt outside the shop and a helicopter hovered just outside the door.

The brothers had just grabbed their jackets as they spun around from the receptionist.

“Bollocks,” Sherlock hissed.

“The back door,” Mycroft shoved him in that direction only for the pair of them to be grabbed by their very angry yet surprisingly smiling boyfriends. They were followed by a lot of police men. Sherlock supposed, none of them could refuse apprehending the bratty detective and his older brother; the British Government itself.

“Oh, hello, Gregory, my most beloved...”

“Shut it!” the DI ordered, frog marching Mycroft to a waiting panda car.

John gave Sherlock a little shake. “And, you, don't even try sweet talking me.”

He grinned. “Oh come on! The pair of you! This is your own fault.”

“I'm afraid I have to agree with my brother.”

“Shut. It,” John repeated. “You too, old man.”

The brothers were shoved in the back of the police car to many catcalls and much applause, then the spectacle dissipated. The helicopter flew away and the cars drove from the scene, sirens no longer blaring.

When Greg and John climbed into the front of the car, they very carefully avoided looking at one another or their prisoners. Neither of them knew whether to be furious or to burst out laughing.


End file.
